


Never Easy

by sporkmetender



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporkmetender/pseuds/sporkmetender
Summary: It wasn't easy, being secretly married to a woman who had forgotten you. But Maria had risen to a lot of challenges in her life. She could rise to meet this one too.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau
Comments: 35
Kudos: 118
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	1. 1985

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frausorge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frausorge/gifts).

It wasn’t easy, being secretly engaged to Carol Danvers.

When Carol first proposed, Maria thought she was joking. “Get up off the floor, you maniac,” she said. 

But Carol was serious. And something about the way she looked up at Maria and baby Monica so intensely, without hiding behind a joke for once, made Maria say yes.

They couldn’t really get married, of course. It wasn’t legal, and they had no one to invite to a wedding anyway. Certainly not Carol’s horrible family, who treated her like dirt and hated her clothes and hated her job and hated her independence and hated Maria most of all. Carol hadn’t darkened their doorway in years, and it was no great loss if you asked Maria.

And Maria couldn’t exactly invite her own family either, for all that they supported her career and her decision to raise Monica without any help from Wendell The Asshole. 

Maria was almost positive that Mama knew about her and Carol. There was something about the way she never seemed surprised to drop by and find Carol already at the house. The bittersweet resignation in her eyes when Maria asked if she could bring Carol to Thanksgiving dinner and Mama said “Of course, honey. The more the merrier.” The way she smiled at Maria almost genuinely while Carol sang Van Halen to baby Monica on Christmas morning.

It was hard, planning a secret wedding that they couldn’t tell anyone about. Requesting leave for a “short weekend away.” Coming up with jewelry that wasn’t as obvious as wedding rings. Packing a diaper bag for their brief “honeymoon.” Trying to be joyful about something as bittersweet as getting married without a single witness, or even an officiant.


	2. 1986

It wasn’t easy, getting secretly married to Carol Danvers.

Carol looked great in her dress uniform. Of course she did—Carol would look great in burlap. They’d seen each other in every variety of uniform dozens of times. But something about Carol wearing her dress blues just for Maria, in private, brought tears to her eyes. Carol was looking shockingly misty-eyed too, but Maria pretended to be focused on the adorable sight of baby Monica tucked into her carrier with a grocery store bouquet and two plain silver bracelets. Carol hastily scrubbed her face with the sleeve of her dress blues and then they finally made eye contact, and everything else faded out for a minute. 

It was nothing like the wedding she’d been raised to aspire to, but it was her and Carol, pledging to love each other forever while baby Monica drooled on the flowers, and that was what mattered, she told herself. 

Carol looked concerned when Maria couldn’t stop crying at the sight of the matching bracelets on their wrists. 

“Happy tears, baby,” was all she managed to say. She didn’t have the words to explain her joy at becoming Carol’s family, or her sorrow that she couldn’t tell anyone. She didn’t want to taint their beautiful day with discussions of how to handle questions at work, or what she would tell Mama, or a hundred other depressing things that were already threatening to choke out the wondrous feeling of Carol’s hand in hers and Carol’s lips on hers and Carol being officially her family.


	3. 1987

It wasn’t easy, being secretly married to Carol Danvers. 

Patching her up after another fight picked when Roberts taunted her. Begging her to be cautious about how loudly she called Maria “baby.” Trying not to suppress her beautiful, cocky swagger but also caution her against taking too many risks.

“It’s our livelihood, baby.” Maria reached into the first aid kit for another wad of gauze. “You’re going to get us both discharged if you keep carrying on like this, and then what are we going to do?”

Carol’s expression only grew more mulish in spite of the slow drip of blood from the cut on her forehead. “I’ll find a way to take care of you,” she muttered. 

“And what about Monica, honey? How am I going to feed her and take her to the doctor and buy her adorable shoes that she grows out of in four months? You gonna beat up the doctor, too?”

“He’s a runty little dweeb who works in an office all day. You don’t think I could take him?” 

Maria sighed, and Carol’s shoulders slumped. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll do better, sweetheart. I honestly will.”

Maria cupped her cheek and forced Carol’s eyes up off the bloody gauze. “That’s all I ask, honey. Just do your best. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

It was hard, watching Carol struggle to restrain her affectionate nature and her impulse to protect her family. But at least they had each other.


	4. 1989

It wasn’t easy, becoming Carol Danvers’ secret widow.

It hurt every time she had to drop Monica off at Mama’s place, every time she had to explain that “Auntie Carol” had gone away for a while.

It hurt even more when the Air Force notified Carol’s awful family as her “next of kin” even though they hadn’t spoken to her in years, hadn’t shown up for her graduation or any of her promotions. Not even a goddamn drug store birthday card.

Maria spent half an hour digging through the disaster on Carol’s side of the closet before she found a little dog-eared notebook with a California phone number in it. Carol’s mother answered the phone, said how sad they were, wasn’t it a shame what happened to Carol. Too bad there hadn’t been a body for the viewing—Carol always did look great in a dress. 

Maria hung up and threw the notebook across the room so hard that Monica woke up and started crying.

She didn’t get to go to the funeral, or receive Carol’s benefits, or receive much sympathy beyond a few thumps on the back and a gruff offer to buy her a beer at Pancho’s. But she did get some shredded dog tags and an assortment of clothes that weren’t her size and weren’t her style, but smelled enough like Carol that she could actually fall asleep while holding them, instead of staring at the wall into the wee hours of the morning.

Maria was used to being the steady one, the smart one, the one who talked Carol down. The Maria who was Carol’s wife was calm, collected, reasonable. The Maria who Carol left behind was none of those things. 

Maria-without-Carol was clinging to sanity by her fingernails. She was angry and disillusioned, and she only grew angrier and more disillusioned every time she was disciplined for trying to dig into Carol’s obviously fishy disappearance. She had been considering staying in the service after her obligations to the Air Force were fulfilled, but now she was counting the days, holding tight to the possibility of an honorable discharge to keep from going completely batshit on those lying assholes. 

Even worse than the two-faced, lying bureaucrats in the Air Force was the time she went to Mama’s for dinner and a strange man was there in his Sunday best, looking at her much too curiously for someone who didn’t know her from Adam.

Maria-without-Carol shook with anger as she reminded herself over and over that she needed Mama to watch Monica on Monday, and she couldn’t just rush out and never speak to her matchmaking mother ever again. 

Maria-without-Carol was frostily polite but no more than that, and Mama looked faintly ashamed when she shut the door behind the stranger (he didn’t even stay for dessert, which Maria considered a feather in her cap given how good Mama’s pecan pie was).

“I’m getting out of the Air Force in another month, Mama,” Maria said, after 10 minutes of eating pecan pie in complete silence.

Mama nodded (Maria wondered if she’d been counting down the days). She made eye contact with Daddy, and he nodded too. 

“I know it’s hard for you,” she said, “living at that place where she used to live with you. I’ve been thinking maybe this big house is getting to be too much for me and your Daddy. The yard is a lot of work, you know. And your sister has so much room at her place. How would you like to come and live here—you and Monica?”

Maria cried, and Mama and Daddy hugged her, and it was the first time she’d felt halfway okay since...Carol. Mama and Daddy clearly didn’t understand completely, but maybe they understood a little better than she’d thought.

A month later, she moved to the Rambeau house, and she helped Mama and Daddy move in with Teresa, and she didn’t let anyone catch her crying as she packed up Carol’s things and moved them to her new closet.

It was hard, wearing Carol’s bracelet even though she’d likely never see her again. It was hard looking at the pictures of their beautiful, short-lived family. It was hard telling Monica all the stories about how she and “Auntie Carol” met. 

But Maria knew that Carol was alive, and she clung to that with the same tenacity she’d relied on to get her through basic training, to get through dealing with Wendell The Asshole, to get through 33 hours of labor. 

Carol would come back one day, and Maria would welcome her wife home with open arms.


	5. 1995

It wasn’t easy, being married to a superpowered, returned-from-the dead Carol Danvers with amnesia.

Maria had been through a lot in her life. Heartbreak, hardship, grief, asshole passengers, asshole bureaucrats, homophobia, and more racists than you could shake a stick at. 

She’d never felt pain like she did when Carol came home and didn’t remember her.

It was simultaneously everything she’d hoped for and the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

Somehow the fact that Carol didn’t have her wedding bracelet was the biggest gut punch of all. It wasn’t Carol’s fault, of course. Maybe it had broken in the crash, or been taken from her on that alien planet. Maria could remember so clearly how much Carol had bitched about how much the bracelets cost, and also how incredibly careful she had been with her bracelet. Carol—who had never been careful in her life—polished her bracelet once a month and never took it off, even in the shower. “Do you see this bracelet?” she’d said to Monica. “Do you know what it means? It means that I love your Mama and I’m never gonna let the two of you go. You’re my family forever and ever.”

And now she looked at Maria like she was a distant acquaintance. More and more memories were coming back to her over time, but she clearly didn’t remember that they’d been a couple. She seemed so lost, so hardened, after her time with the Kree. Carol, who had always had many acquaintances and few real friends, was lonelier than ever. And Maria didn’t even have time to do more than reestablish a tentative trust and friendship before Carol left again, using her tremendous new powers to right wrongs millions of miles away.

It was hard, knowing that she’d spent six lonely years grieving a woman who barely even remembered her. It was hard, looking at her wedding bracelet and knowing that its match was gone forever. It was hard, knowing that she’d be sharing her wife with multiple galaxies.

But she was Maria Rambeau, and she had a daughter to raise, and an amnesiac superhero wife to get to know, and a new friend in Nick Fury. She had a steady job piloting rich assholes to and from the local airfield, and she had her health, and she knew Carol was going to be okay. That would have to be enough.


	6. 1997

It wasn’t easy, being married to a woman who considered you a close platonic friend.

Carol had been coming by every few months, slowly getting to know Maria and Monica and Mama and Daddy again. She brought back interesting gifts from other planets, and she played alarmingly energetic games of tag with Monica, and she came to holidays whenever she could. She was kind, considerate, and much more serious than she used to be. Mama and Daddy clearly thought the new Carol was an improvement, though they were confused by all the lies and half-truths surrounding her disappearance and reappearance. Everyone else fell into a seamless rhythm with Carol, like she’d never left. 

Maria could hardly bear to look her in the eye. It was like looking at a stranger wearing her wife’s likeness. 

Sometimes, things almost felt close to normal. Carol still liked to joke, and her memory of Earth song lyrics had returned remarkably quickly. She was still intense, and compassionate, and devoted to righting every wrong, great or small. She glowed with righteous satisfaction when she talked about the Kree war parties she’d destroyed or turned aside, the Skrull survivors she’d helped to establish a new home.

Maria could at least take comfort in the fact that Carol seemed to have stayed celibate for the past nine years. She didn’t think she could handle it if Carol started dating again. Fortunately, Carol seemed entirely focused on making up for the time she’d unknowingly spent working for the bad guys.

Unfortunately, Monica was old enough to start asking awkward questions about Maria and Carol’s relationship. 

As soon as Carol left the planet again (she’d shown up just long enough to mastermind an epic Easter egg hunt, which was classic Carol), Monica confronted Maria with some old honeymoon pictures that Maria thought she’d kept hidden.

“Mom,” Monica said, “were you and Auntie Carol together? Like, a couple?”

Maria knew her hesitation had given her away. But she was shocked when Monica wrapped her in a hug. “It’s okay, Mom. I always knew she was special to you. It makes sense now, why you never dated.”

Maria wept. 

“We were married,” she said, when she could talk again. “It wasn’t legal or anything, but we said our vows and gave each other bracelets, and we considered ourselves married.”

Monica reached out to touch Maria’s bracelet with reverent fingers. 

“Yes, that’s my wedding bracelet. Carol had one just like it,” Maria choked out. “It’s probably lost or destroyed by now. She used to take such good care of it.”

It was hard to talk about it, but it was also such a relief to have someone she could tell.


	7. 1998

It wasn’t easy, being secretly married to the hottest superhero ever.

Maria was becoming uncomfortably aware of how hot Carol was, especially now that she’d really come into her powers and liked to show off with stupid (stupidly attractive) parlor tricks. She’d get that cocky grin on her face and make direct eye contact with Maria when she did it, and it was devastatingly effective. Carol had always been attractive, of course, but she was more and more like her old self, and Maria was having trouble mentally separating new Carol and old Carol.

Monica sometimes caught Maria looking smitten and rolled her eyes behind Carol’s back. She thought it was incredibly dumb and weird that Maria didn’t just tell Carol about their past relationship. “You two idiots are obviously meant for each other,” she said. “Just get over yourself and tell her you’re married.”

Maria gave Monica a half-hearted lecture about calling her mother an idiot, but, well...the girl had a point. But it had already been three years, and she hadn’t said a word. How could she bring it up now? Even the thought of it was terrifying.

If Carol had been going to remember their romantic relationship on her own, she clearly would have remembered already. There was no smooth, low-pressure way to ask someone “Hey, I know you have amnesia, but we’ve technically been married for 12 years and I’m still in love with you, and have you considered being together romantically even though you spend most of your time on other planets and you don’t remember marrying me?”

The actual revelation happened in a much less romantic way than in any of Maria’s daydreams from the past three years.

Carol arrived at the Rambeau household on a muggy autumn evening with a showy display of aerial maneuvers. Normally, Maria and Monica would have been delighted to watch and applaud, but they didn’t have the heart for it on this particular day.

Carol noticed right away that they both seemed sad and distracted, and Monica explained about the news of Matthew Shepard’s death earlier that day. 

Carol was sympathetic and angry in equal measures—Maria expected no less—but she seemed to sense that this news was personal somehow.

At least she had the restraint to wait until Monica had gone to bed before she brought it up.

“Maria,” she said. “The news about Matthew Shepard is incredibly sad, but you seemed more upset than I would expect about the death of a stranger. Can you tell me why?”

Maria choked out a sort of strangled laugh-sob at the irony of being asked such a question by her amnesiac lesbian wife. 

“Carol,” she said, and she made the kind of intense eye contact that she’d been avoiding for ages. “I’m a lesbian. I’m...like Matthew.”

Carol looked absolutely thunderstruck. “You are?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” Maria said, suddenly deciding to rip off the Band-Aid. She would never get a better opportunity. 

She took a deep breath and forged ahead. “I had a...partner, once. A woman who helped me raise Monica when she was little.”

“A partner,” Carol said, still in that breathless tone. “Did I know her? Who was she? Why have you never mentioned her before? Do you have pictures?”

Maria laughed wetly and looked away. “You knew her better than anyone, except maybe me. You’ve already seen most of the pictures.”

Carol was now clearly caught between awe and confusion.

“It was you, Carol. You and I were partners.”

“What? I...you—we—were together? I helped you raise Monica?”

Maria nodded, absently rubbing her bracelet between her thumb and forefinger. “We even got married.” Carol made a startled noise, and Maria smiled bitterly. “It wasn’t legal, of course. Still isn’t. And we didn’t have anyone else there—just the two of us and Monica as our flower girl and ring bearer. But we said our vows in front of God, and we exchanged bracelets, and that was enough for the two of us.”

“Bracelets,” Carol said. “Is that...your wedding bracelet? I know you always wear it, but I didn’t know why.”

“Yes,” Maria said, and her smile this time was sincere, if somewhat tear-stained. “I’ve worn it every day since we were married. You had one just like it.”

Carol looked devastated, then angry. “Another thing they took me from...from us. My memories of you, my memories of our family, and even my wedding bracelet.”

Maria smiled through her tears. “It’s not your fault, Carol. I know they took it from you.”

Carol scooted closer on the couch, reaching out a tentative hand to touch Maria’s bracelet. “Why didn’t you tell me before now? That we were married?”

“I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to put that much pressure on you—you’re already carrying the weight of saving the galaxy. How could a legally unrecognized marriage to a woman you don’t remember be more important than that? I didn’t want to hold you to a promise you don’t remember making.”

Carol smiled crookedly at her. “What if I want to be held to that promise?”

Maria blinked.

“What if I knew all along that there was something between us, but I couldn’t figure out what it was, and now I know and I really want to make up for lost time? What if I want to forget the logistics of living in different galaxies and just kiss you?”

That sounded a lot like old Carol—sweet, impulsive Carol who proposed to Maria in the kitchen after an impromptu karaoke battle. In fact, that sounded exactly like the Carol she married. 

Maria wasn’t sure who leaned forward first. All she knew was that Carol’s lips felt just as perfect against hers as the day they got married.

It wasn’t easy, being married to Carol Danvers. But it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just handwave all that Avengers nonsense, yeah? As far as I'm concerned, Maria and Carol lived happily ever after.


End file.
